Quicksilver's Knight

CHAPTER 4

"Come, sweeting!" one callow swain breathed, clasping her sharply to him one moonlit night. "You are not so far above me in birth that you should look down your nose at me—and am I not a fine figure of a man?"

"If you can call an 'eight' a fine figure!" Angrily, Jane tried to push him away. "You are far too round above, Lumpkin, and rounder below!"

True, but he had too much bulk to be easily pushed away, and he laughed, almost nauseating her with bad breath. "Come, I know you jest! We are alone, here in this moonlit wood, and who is to know if we share a kiss?"

"Share your own kisses, then!" Jane hooked a foot around Lumpkin's ankle and shoved hard as she kicked back. Over her would—be lover went with a squall, and Jane was away, fleeing down the moonlit path. By the time he had climbed to his feet and come lumbering after, she was gone from sight.

She never told her brothers, though—she knew what they would do to the uncouth youth, and did not wish to see any of them tried for murder. After all, accidents could happen. Besides, Jane was quite sure she could handle any one such lumpen suitor by herself.

But she had not bargained for three of them to catch her alone, nor in her own father's wood!

Her first hint of their presence was the stifled chuckle from the thicket. Instantly, she was on her guard; still, she was somewhat surprised when a hulking plowboy stepped out from the underbrush in front of her, grinning and asking, "Well, now! And what is such a pretty morsel doing alone in the woods at night, eh?"

"Coming from tending Granny Hacken, who is sick abed!" Jane snapped. "Step aside, Rogash, or this 'pretty morsel' will stick in your craw!"

"Oh, I think not," Rogash said easily, "not when there are three of us to take you in small nibbles. Shall we taste, lads?"

"Aye, we shall see if she is as hot a dish as she seems," Lumpkin chuckled from behind her, and "Not hot, for she is a sweeting," said the nasal voice of a third village boy whom Jane recognized as Barlein.

"Would you seek to harm a virgin, then?" Jane managed to keep her voice steady, masking the anger that covered the fear.

"Virgin!" Rogash sneered. "Nay, what virgin would be abroad in the wood by night, and alone?"

"A virgin who has mercy on a poor old woman, and stays to see her asleep before she leaves to go to her home! But even if I were only a virgin who likes to follow the song of the nightingale, you would still be most wrong to accost me!"

" 'Accost,' forsooth! What a grand word, for a lass who is only the daughter of a squire who was born a peasant!" Rogash nodded to Lumpkin and Barlein. "Let us 'accost' her well then, lads."

"Hold, fools!" Jane snapped. "I have three stalwart brothers, who will flay the hides from your backs if you dare to touch me!"

"Not when they learn you were not a virgin," Lumpkin said, gloating, and Rogash added, "For no virgin comes by night to the woods where men might lurk."

Jane knew her brothers would never believe such a charge; she knew they would very probably kill these three clods; but she also knew that would be far too late for her. There was, however, a strong chance that her brothers and father were already abroad searching for her, so she screamed as the three youths closed in. Jane screamed again as she stepped inside Rogash's reaching hand to slam a small fist into his gut with all her strength, screamed once more as he folded over his pain and she whirled away from him to lash a kick into Barlein's stomach. She missed; the kick went low, and Barlein crumpled with a gargling scream. Somehow, though, Jane felt no guilt about it.

But Lumpkin's fist slammed into her cheek as he snarled, "Vixen!" Pain seared through the side of her face, stabs of light obscured him from her, and she leaped back but not fast enough; his rough hand closed over her arm, yanking her off her feet. The ground rushed up to slam against her, but training came to her rescue—she tucked her chin in as she fell so that her head did not strike the ground. In fact, she managed to fall on her side, reached out to grasp the leg in front of her behind the knee, and pulled as hard as she could. She must have hit something she didn't know about, for Lumpkin screamed, a high and whinnying cry, as he toppled. Still dazed, she managed to push herself to her feet, her head clearing enough to see Rogash just beginning to get his breath back, glaring murder at her as he straightened—as much as he could.

Jane leaped back into the underbrush, then twisted aside, and Rogash blundered past her, bellowing, "Come back here, vixen!" Moving with the silence of one born to the greenwood, Jane searched among last year's fallen leaves until she found a broken branch, three feet long and still sound.

Rogash came blundering back, calling, "Where are you, trull? Come out and get what you deserve!"

Jane stepped out in front of him and swung the branch two-handed.

Rogash howled with pain, falling back with a crash but Jane heard a retching gasp behind her and turned to see Barlein coming toward her, still hunched over his pain, but with a dagger in his hand and blood in his eye.

Jane swung her improvised club in a feint. Barlein reached up to catch it, lunging with his knife...

But the branch wasn't there to catch; it circled around to smash against his knife hand. He screamed again, dropping the knife, then went silent as the branch cracked against his head.

Suddenly, the wood was awfully still.

Fear of another sort seized Jane, for she had never killed any man, and had no wish to begin. She glanced at Rogash, but he began to groan, clasping his head, and Barlein at her feet was breathing, at least. She stepped back into the roadway, club ready—but Lumpkin was scrabbling in the dust, trying to regain his feet. All guilt vanished, and Jane raised her club...

Feet pounded through the underbrush, many feet, and Jane leaped back with a scream that was as much anger as fear, her club swinging high, ready to strike ...

"Nay, sister, I pray thee," Leander said, startled. Jory and Martin stepped up to either side of him.

Jane just stared at them, still holding her club as she gave a sobbing gasp. Then she dropped it and leaped into her eldest brother's embrace, throwing her arms about his chest in a hug like that of Death.

"Nay, sister, 'tis well, 'tis well," he soothed. "You are safe now—we will not let any harm you."

"She seems to have little enough need of us," Jory told him, and there was definite pride in his voice.

"No need! See how she trembles, brother! Nay, sister, what did these cattle seek to do to you?"

"What do you think, Leander?" Martin snapped. "Brave fellows, to come at a poor weak lass three together!"

"Fool that I was, to ever let you go alone in the woods!" Leander groaned.

"You did well, sister," Martin said with admiration. "Well, but not enough." Leander disengaged himself from Jane. "Come, brothers. Let us finish what she has begun."

"No!" Jane cried in panic. "I would not have you hang!"

"Peace, sister." Now it was Jory's arm around her. "We shall not be hung—but neither shall they."

"No, no!" Jane cried. "Nothing that will not heal!"

"You are too kindhearted, sister," Martin sighed, "but we shall honor your wish." He dropped to one knee to yank Lumpkin's head up by the hair. "Did you hear that, bag of offal? It is only by our sister's mercy that you shall not lose more than your life."

"Nor even that!" Jane cried.

"Well, as you wish, sister," Jory sighed, dragging Barlein back into the trail and throwing him down on the ground. "Up, swine! For I shall give you one chance of fair fight, though 'tis more than you gave my sister."

But Barlein knew better than to risk it; he scrambled to his feet, trying to spring past Jory.

Jory kicked his feet out from under him. "You do not wish the chance, then? Sister, turn your head!"

"Aye, Martin, take her home," Leander snapped. "The two of us are more than a match for what is left of the three of them. Do not beseech greater mercy, sister, for they deserve none."

"True enough." Martin turned her away with a consoling arm about her shoulders. "Come, sister, home to safety. You do not wish to see what follows."

He was right—she didn't. She was sure of that the next week, when she happened to see Lumpkin going out to the field to work. The bruises had faded, but he was still limping.

She had no trouble with the village boys after that but apparently, word of her spread to the manor house, for it was Sir Hempen who stopped her next—Sir Hempen, the son of Sir Dunmore, the knight whom her father served.

Sir Hempen leaned down from his saddle to catch her wrist, saying, "Hail, pretty maid!"

Jane's heart quailed within, for knight's son or not, the glint in his eye was the same she had seen in the eye of the peasant Lumpkin. "Say, pretty maid, have you seen a fox?"

"Several times in my life, sir." Jane gripped her staff more tightly—she never went without one, now.

"Aye, but have you seen one today? I am hunting vixen."

"I have not seen one, sir, not this week past."

"None?" Sir Hempen feigned surprise. "Not even when you have looked into the waters of a still pond?"

Jane stared at him, startled, then twisted her wrist out of his grasp in anger. "Nay, sir, but I have seen an ass, not two minutes past!"

His hand cracked across her cheek, and she fell back, biting down on a cry of pain, pressing her left hand to her cheek, then glaring up at him—but the young knight lolled back in his saddle, face easing into a wolfish grin. "Why, then, if you have seen an ass, so shall I! Come, wanton, will you be bought? Or will you be forced?"

"I am no wanton, sir," she retorted angrily, "not for any man's buying or beckoning!"

"That is not what I hear from the village boys. Nay, think, pretty lass—there shall be gold for you, and for your child."

A sudden certainty crystallized within her, and she did not know where it came from, for it must have been building a while. "I shall never bear any child, sir, not yours nor any man's!"

But he misunderstood her completely. "Barren? So much the better, then!"

"Nay, sir, I am a virgin!"

"Then how could you know you were barren?" He reached down again. "Come, I am not your first, nor shall I be your last!"

She stared at the reaching hand for a horrified instant, realizing that Lumpkin and his friends had certainly had their revenge. Anger glared into rage, anger at them and this presumptuous young knight. She snatched the groping hand and spun about, yanking hard. She heard Sir Hempen's cry of surprise and fear, then saw him fly past her to slam full-length into the ground. His horse neighed and backed, alarmed—and Jane felt satisfaction glowing within her.

Then Sir Hempen heaved himself up, glaring murder at her, and with a sick sense of certainty, she saw in her mind's eye a gallows, with the bodies of her three brothers swaying in the wind—for to revenge your sister on a peasant was one thing, but to take that same revenge on a knight's son was quite another. The certainty grew and the sickness faded as she lifted her quarterstaff in both hands, with grim conviction—for though Sir Hempen might have charged her brothers with assault, she knew he never would complain of a beating from a girl, for the very shame of it.

If she could—for a peasant was one thing, but a knight trained in fighting was another.

"You shall regret that, my lass," Sir Hempen grated, "regret it now, and in my bed!"

"I shall never come to your bed, sir," she retorted. "They who did hint that I might, did slander me most sorely."

"Most sore shall you be," he retorted, "but I doubt that you were slandered." He gathered himself and charged, reaching.

She spun aside and swung her staff.

It caught him on the back of the head with a hollow knock, and he went sprawling.

Jane stepped back and waited. A single blow and a quick flight would not serve this time, she knew, for word might still reach her brothers, and fools of honor that they were, they would seek Sir Hempen out. Worse, he would pursue her still, if not today, then another time, until they were bound to come against him. The only chance was to stand and fight, and best him at his own game.

Sir Hempen came slowly to his feet, his eyes chips of ice. "What sort of a virgin swings a staff like a soldier?"

"A virgin who is determined to remain so," she countered.

He snarled and came for her again, drawing his sword. Fear stabbed her at the thought that the sword might, but she stood her ground, circling around him, ready. He began to smile, enjoying her apprehension, then suddenly advanced, slashing.

She parried with the left end of the staff, then the right, then the left again. He lost his smile and swung his sword high—but she stepped in and swung the staff up to knock the blade aside.

He caught the staff with his left hand, though, and held it high as he turned the sword and, using the hilt as a knuckle guard, drove his fist into her stomach.

She fell back, unable even to cry out, and he wrested the staff from her as she fell, then pounced upon her—but even with the breath driven out of her, she had presence of mind enough to roll, and roll again and keep rolling. He had to scramble back to his feet, and it cost him just enough time for her to roll into the underbrush where she could catch herself to a sapling and use it to haul herself back to her feet, sucking in one tearing breath, then another—much more quickly than he would expect, for her whole body was in far better shape than that of any of the village boys she knew, from her daily sword drills.

Cursing, Sir Hempen blundered into the thicket after her.

Jane backed away from him, pulling the sapling with her, hand over hand until she was holding it near the top, its trunk bent into a steep curve. Sir Hempen was too enraged to notice; he only came for her, hands outstretched, lips writhing back in a snarl.

Jane let go of the sapling.

It slammed full into Sir Hempen's face. He staggered back with a squall, groping for something to hold him up, missed, and fell, rolling on the ground, his hands pressed to his face, groaning.

Jane leaped past him, watching him as carefully as though he were a snake, stepping back to the roadway, where she caught up his fallen sword. There she stood and waited.

It was only a few minutes before he came staggering out of the brush, saw her, and jolted to a halt, startled. Then his eyes narrowed. "Put it down, slut. You will hurt yourself."

"Not myself, Sir Cur," she retorted.

His head snapped up at the insult. Then he snarled again and came for her.

She stepped back, whipping the sword through a quick series of slashes and circles. He should have taken warning, but he didn't; he kept on coming, and she stepped nimbly aside as she swung the blade.

It sliced open his doublet, tracing a thin line of red across his chest.

Jane felt her stomach sink; she had cut deeper than she had intended.

But it must have been only his skin that she had cut, for he looked up at her again, his face stone, and took another step.

She swept the blade down and around.

Even Sir Hempen had sense enough to jolt to a halt with a sword's point aimed right at his belly.

"You shall regret this, wanton!" he grated.

"No wanton, but a maid!" she flashed. "And I intend to remain so! Now get you out from this wood, Sir Knight, while you can still walk!"

His eyes narrowed. "You would not dare to harm a belted knight!"

For a moment, her heart quailed within her, for she suddenly realized what would happen if she did—prison at the least, hanging at the worst. But hard on the heels of dismay followed inspiration, and she retorted, "I would dare to tell your father what you sought to do, to his old squire's virgin daughter—and be sure the wives can seek and verify that I am indeed virgin!"

"At twenty?" he scoffed. "Twenty, and unmarried? How could the daughter of a peasant still be a virgin?"

"The daughter of a squire! No matter his birth! And as to the how of it, 'tis simply that all the village boys are such clodpolls that I can feel only contempt for their callow uncouthness! Aye, and for their weakness and clumsiness, for there's not a one of them can stand up to me—no more than can you, knight or not! Nay, none have the quality to win my love, and none have been strong enough to force what I have no desire to give, when none give me desire! Be sure I am truly virgin, and that your mother and mine shall both ascertain it, if they must!"

Sir Hempen kept his glare, but the first trace of doubt began to show. "Give me back my sword."

"Ride away," she told him. "When you are out of sight, I shall leave it leaning 'gainst an oak at the edge of the wood, so that you may come back and find it—but you shall not find me."

"Nay, for some poacher might chance upon it and steal it ere I come! How should a knight explain that he has lost his sword?"

"How shall you explain that loss if I keep it?" she countered, and waited just long enough for the flush of his embarrassment to redden his face. "You may come back for the sword, sir, or you may ride off without it—but I shall not give it back to you while you are near me, save between your ribs!"

Sir Hempen brayed harsh laughter. "Between my ribs? Why, foolish maid, how would you explain my death?" Again, dismay—and again, inspiration. "I would not," she said simply. "Who would think an unarmed maid could have slain you—if they found your body?"

Sir Hempen reddened again, but this time, he said only, "The huge old oak that stands by the carters' path, where it enters the wood."

"When you are out of sight," Jane said, by way of agreement.

Sir Hempen favored her with one last glare as he turned on his heel and strode away to catch his horse.

Jane watched him go. As soon as he had disappeared among the leaves, she disappeared into the underbrush at the side of the path. Then she let her knees buckle, let the sobs come.

He found his sword—she watched from hiding as he took it up—and rode away. She was sure he was determined to have revenge, but she was equally determined that he should never have the chance. She never went alone by night again, but always asked one of her brothers to escort her. They, at least, were as skilled with weapons as she.

It was a pity they were her brothers.

But there were other ways of having revenge. Other young knights came riding, to flirt with her—only their flirtations were crude and demanding. She sent them away with sharp words, but when the third came by, she realized that since Sir Hempen had not been able to ruin her, he had ruined her reputation. She would have to put an end to that, she knew—and as always, she was determined not to put her brothers in trouble.

So when the next young knight came by, she batted her eyelashes, laughed low in her throat, and told him to meet her by the great oak that stood by the carters' path, where it entered the wood. When he came, she gave him the same instruction in the strengths of the quarterstaff that she had given Sir Hempen, and bade him come back to the oak for his sword.

It occurred to her that she should start a collection—but she understood, in some fashion, that swords were so important to knights that if she kept them, they would have to seek revenge on her, to the point of trial for witchcraft, or some such. She had to leave them something, or they would leave her nothing.

But she came home to find her mother and sister in tears, and her brothers looking glum instead of grim, and learned how little they really had.

They followed their father's coffin to the churchyard, then took their mother home. In the days that followed, they labored their way through grief together, trying to understand why God had taken their father away—though at sixty, he was certainly an old man. Nonetheless, his loss struck deep, and Jane was shocked to realize how much he had been the rock on which they all stood.

She realized it all over again at the end of the month, when Sir Dunmore ordered all three of her brothers to join his entourage as he went to make a show of force along Count Laeg's border with his neighbor, whose soldiers had been committing a series of petty thefts.

"All three?" Mother stared, taken aback. "Can he not leave me even one of my sons to care for me?"

"Count Laeg has ordered Sir Dunmore to take all three," the squire told her. "His reasons are not for us to question."

"No, surely not," Mother agreed, her gaze straying. But Jane realized why Count Laeg had given the order, and felt her heart sink within her. She tried to tell herself that she was being silly, that she was seeing evil intent where there was none, but she found she couldn't believe that. She knew Count Laeg had seen her on one of his recent visits to their village, and apparently taken notice of her, as he noticed every pretty young girl in his demesnethe lecherous old goat! Surely that was all; surely Sir Hempen would have been too ashamed to mention his encounter with her to Count Laeg's son, or to any other young man—and surely the other knights would have been similarly too embarrassed. Surely none of them would have spoken of her at all.

But if that was so, why did a knight with a dozen men-at-arms come to fetch her, instead of one squire?

"My daughter Jane?" Mother held to the doorjamb as though she would herself be the door that kept them out. "Why would His Lordship require her attendance?"

"To serve him and his household." The knight couldn't quite meet her eyes. "He has a wife and daughters, and need of lasses to serve them."

Her mother's face went slack with foreboding; even she had heard the rumors of the sort of attendance Count Laeg required.

"Why, how kind!" Jane forced herself to show a bright cheeriness that she did not feel. "Maidservants are well paid, after all, Mother. Surely the Count knows of Father's death, and has taken this chance to give us some money—he must know we will be in need of it." But she realized that the Count had indeed known of Father's death, and realized even more, with a stab of fire, that it was only the old man's presence that had kept her safe from the Count's grasp. Her father's presence, and her brothers', of course—but it had been easy enough for the Count to get them out of the way for the time being. Anxiety churned within her—surely Count Laeg would not have them slain in some contrived border skirmish! But if he did not, what would happen when they came home? A vision of bloody swords stabbing flashed before her mind's eye, and with grim resolve she determined that no matter what happened to her, her brothers would not learn of it.

"It is true," said the knight who led the troop of soldiers.

Jane looked up, startled and frightened. Had he heard her thoughts?

"Count Laeg will give you silver," the knight assured her.

Silver, when what he meant to have was far dearer than gold—dearer than life!

But her mother's face had smoothed with the fiction Jane had given her, for she wanted desperately to believe there was no danger to her daughter. "Of course! But you must be presentable for the Countess and her daughters, my dear. Run and pack your things—quickly now, and I'll see to it that Gertrude fixes you some food to take on the journey."

Jane could have protested that the journey would take less than a day, and in any case, she had no appetite—but she knew her mother needed to believe it was all innocent, and that Jane was delighted at the prospect of serving the Countess and her daughters, so she turned and tripped gaily up the stairs, pretending for all she was worth.

In her chamber, she dropped the mask and let the grimness show in her face. Hot tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away angrily as she changed into travelling garb and made a bundle of her four dresses and other clothes—but in the center of the bundle she packed the dagger her father had given her, so long ago.

Then, forcing herself to seem cheerful again, she went to join the soldiers.

The men-at-arms treated her with courtesy, at least whether it was out of sympathy, or because they knew better than to seek to taste of their lord's sweetmeats, she didn't know. She was only grateful for one less worry.

As they rode, though, she burned with fury inside. Who was Count Laeg to order her about at his whim, especially to so vile a usage? Having defeated four young knights, she had lost respect for them—they were no better than the village boys in what they wanted and how they chose to get it. Oh, they were better fighters, it was true, for they knew swordplay—but not so well as Jane herself, it seemed. They were certainly of no higher quality than she was, and somewhat less, for all she could tell, in both swordplay and morality. No better than her village swains indeed! By what right were they knights? By what right was this corrupt old Count Laeg a lord, while she was only a commoner?

Why, by right of birth, of course—or by accident, rather; for if they were no better than Jane or her brothers, it was only accident that they were born of knights and ladies, while she was born the daughter of a mere squire and a peasant woman. Perhaps she should be a lord herself, if all it took was a quick blade and quicker wits.

He offered her silver, did he? Well, she prized her virginity more dearly than that! Better dead than bedded, she vowed silently—but she knew her surest way out was through His Lordship's chamber.

Sure enough, that was where they took her, as soon as they had come to his castle—come to it through a postern gate, and led her up a back stairs. Apparently, none were to know of her arrival except the knight and soldiers who had brought her. Oh, she did not doubt she would wait upon the Countess and her daughters—when the Count was done with her! After all, he had to have some excuse for having brought her to his castle—but he could not let his wife see her before he had used her, or the Countess might grow suspicious. No, straight to his chamber she was brought, and there given water to wash away the dust of the journey. She was given a little food, too, and wine—a whole bottle of wine.

The door closed behind the soldiers, and she glared at the bottle with contempt. She did not doubt that the poor girls he had summoned here before her had drunk themselves senseless in hope of diminishing their fear and pain—but she had need of a clear head.

However, she did not want Count Laeg to know that. So she poured half the bottle into a chamber pot, then opened her bundle of clothes just long enough to take out the dagger.

There was a sumptuous dressing gown laid out on the bed, but no linen to wear beneath it, so she kept her own linen on, though she doffed her travelling dress to put on the gown—and hid her dagger beneath it.

Then she waited while the sun went down, growing more and more apprehensive, more and more tense. Finally, the door opened, and His Lordship came in smelling like a winery, and like decay. He smiled through his yellowed beard as he came up to lay a hand on her waist. "Well met, sweeting!"

Jane forced herself to smile, though she felt like gnashing her teeth. "Good evening, my lord."

He chuckled. "So the vixen Rumor speaks of is so easily tamed as this! My captain tells me you are quick for silver."

"Quick enough, my lord," she said, seething.

"Are you truly! Come, let us see!" And he swept her into an embrace with an arm that was still strong enough to surprise her, swept her up against him, fondling with the other hand, and lowering his mouth to hers.

Noisome though it was, she forced herself to bear his kiss, for she needed his mouth muffled. She slid one hand up behind his neck while the other slipped the dagger out from beneath her robe and plunged it into his chest.

He cried out, but her hand tightened on his neck like a vise, forcing his mouth to stay tight to hers, muffling the scream. Then his whole body went slack, dragging down, and she loosed her hold, letting him slip to the floor. She stared down at the crumpled body and the spreading pool of blood, hardly able to believe he was really dead—but he did not move and, bending down to look, she saw his eyes had glazed. So much, then, for the debaucher of maidens! She felt not the slightest qualm of guilt; he had deserved a violent death a hundred times over. In fact, she found room to regret that it had been so quick.

Moving deliberately, she lifted the goblet; now she could allow herself a swallow, though she used it to rinse her mouth first, then took another mouthful to drink. Then, without hurrying, she changed back into her travelling dress; she knew no one dared disturb the lord at his pleasures, so none would come looking for him until morning. Finally, she pulled her knife from his chest, turned away so that she would not see the blood that must come pumping out, wiped the blade, and tucked it away in her sleeve. Then she opened the door.

The guards outside looked up, then frowned to see the clothes she wore.

"His Lordship requires more wine," she said, slurring her words and blinking blearily.

One guard smiled, relaxing, and nodded, moving away.

"So you drank it all, and saved none for him?" the other guard asked, chuckling.

"Aye..." She stared at his halberd, blinking stupidly as she listened to the other guard's footsteps fade away. "Why do you hold that ... that..."

"Halberd," he supplied. "To protect His Lordship, little miss."

"How will it do that?" she asked, taking hold of the shaft.

He chuckled indulgently and let go, letting her have the weapon. She took a staggering step backwards ... then swept the butt around with blinding speed and unerring accuracy. It cracked on bone; the guard crumpled.

Quickly, Jane caught him under the arms and straightened up, heaving. Staggering, she managed to drag him back inside the Count's chamber and closed the door. She bound the guard with his own belt, gagged him with a strip from his own tunic, then rolled him in a bedsheet, so that he would not be able to see the Count's body when he waked, and would perhaps be a little less frantic to call for help. Then she went back to collect her bundle and ran to the door. But she paused in the portal, considering, then reflected that it was hanged for the kid, hanged for the goat—if her life was forfeit for killing a nobleman, what mattered the punishment for stealing his sword? She hurried back to his dead body, unbuckled the swordbelt, and fastened it about her own waist. Then, with no further ado, she hurried out of the chamber.

She closed the door firmly behind her, turned the key in the huge old lock, then tucked it into her bundle and was off.

She knew where to go—they had brought her in that way, after all, to avoid notice. She avoided notice again as she slipped out, down the back stairs, through the servants' door, and across to the postern gate. If anyone saw her, they took no notice—least of all the guard at the postern, who knew only that there were suddenly a great many more stars than usual, then a deeper darkness. Jane slipped out, closed the gate softly behind her, and was gone into the night.